


We Get By With A Little Help From Our...?

by Crykea



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [7]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Archivist!Jon, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Burns, Compulsion, Damaged Vocal Chords, Elias is a plotpoint, Established Relationship, Gore, I don’t think I really need those tags lol, Jude Perry is chaotic neutral in a chaotic evil way, Lonely!Martin, M/M, background daisy/basira and melanie/helen, open/ambiguous ending, stars out fluffyish and gets angsty/gorey pretty quick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-11 23:13:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18434111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crykea/pseuds/Crykea
Summary: In order to find some way to free his assistants and himself from Elias, Jon equips Martin’s help to seek out someone he hasn’t spoken to in quite some time.





	We Get By With A Little Help From Our...?

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if this constitutes as Mature but I'm considering it as such with all the more Gorey bits in this
> 
> Content warnings: Jude Perry's hot hot hands
> 
> not gonna lie this is a bit A Lot

Elias had started appearing in Jon’s dreams. There had been a split second wherein Jon thought maybe it was a coincidence or just some weird part of the statement dreams that he hadn't noticed before, but the Archivist inside of him quickly disregarded that theory. He had travelled through people’s brains enough to know this was not 'normal'.

The dreams were strange enough already, but Elias showing up where he wasn't supposed to be only happened every once in a while at first. That being said, the first time he saw Elias Bouchard drinking something from a to-go cup in the background of a statement giver’s dream Watching him, he was so startled he’d woken himself up with how fast his heart rate had risen. Martin, who was trying to sleep beside him, half-woke up drowsily, patting a tired hand wherever he could reach. His freezing fingers landed on Jon’s ribcage, only succeeding in waking him further.

“Nightmare. Go back to sleep.” Martin hushed, trying to help even while half asleep. Despite how cold he was after sleeping next to Martin, he was sweating and breathing as though he had just run a marathon.

“Yes, a nightmare,” He placed one hand against his racing heart, reaching his other hand over to run his fingers once through his partner's hair, “You go back to sleep. You’re going to need it.”

Martin hummed, softening back into the mattress. Glancing at the clock on the bedside table, Jon saw that it was barely three in the morning. Two hours of sleep seemed reasonably more than enough for one night. Gently placing Martin’s arm back on top of the covers, he slid off of the bed. Once out of his room, he basked in the warmth of the rest of the house. Sometimes he could get irritated at his god, but at least The Eye didn’t make the rooms he entered consistently drop 5 degrees.

The coffee pot was filled with from the previous morning, so he poured himself a mug and placed it in the microwave. Martin’s tea was fine of course, but Jon really did prefer coffee--something Martin learned when they had first moved in together. (He had disappeared for a month out of spite, upset with Jon for not telling him literally years earlier.) As he stirred three sugars into his coffee he heard a soft click behind him. The tension that had built up in his shoulders dissipated and a gentle smile made its way onto his face.

“Ah, good morning.” Spinning slowly so as not to spill his reheated coffee, he wandered across the small kitchen to where the tape recorder was sitting on the edge of the far counter. The whirring machine was sitting on top of the pile of manila folders that Jon had rescued from his archives. He hadn’t yet read them but he Knew their contents would be perfectly satisfying. As soon as he sat down in front of the recorder, however, his brain flashed back to his strange dream. Elias had never been in that dream before. Sure, there were some Elias was in just due to his existence. There was at least one statement that featured Elias at the grocery store, a bystander in someone's flesh themed nightmare, but Jon had had this specific dream before last night. Jon would have noticed if his ex-boss had been in that statement the first time. He shouldn’t have been there.

There was a sour taste in his mouth--the honey-like taste that usually coated his mouth when he tapped into his Archivist powers going rancid at the back of his throat. The statement on the top of the pile was even about the Beholding, something which would have usually helped put him in a good mood, only made his jaw ache. What was Elias doing in his head? He was especially hard to miss in the bright orange prison jumpsuit he still wore. The man was extremely out of place, luxuriating as he was on the veranda of an outdoor cafe as his statement giver was reliving their spider related trauma memory. Jon could see the dream as though he were still asleep and not sitting in his kitchen drinking coffee that was starting to taste acrid in spite of the sugar he had added. Elias had made smug eye contact with Jon from across the road just before he had been ripped from the dreamscape.

Screwing up his face in disgust, he downed the rest of his coffee, gagging at the taste. He had started taking his coffee sweet after The Archivist had awakened fully inside of him. Alongside the sickeningly sweet taste of compulsion, he’d realized early on that the Beholding had a sweet tooth. Melanie kept calling his coffee “obscenely sweet” after the first time she saw him prepare himself a cup at work.

Instead of reading any of the statements sat in front of him, Jon picked up a book off the shelf. He curled up tightly under a blanket in the corner of the couch to read. He could tell Martin was starting to awaken due to the drop in temperature throughout the flat. Martin found it a bit embarrassing, how little he could control himself whilst asleep or groggy. Jon didn’t mind. At least he didn’t have the problem of accidental compulsion. A cold handshake would certainly get someone in less trouble than forcing a statement from an unwilling party.

Just as he expected, Martin walked out of their bedroom, yawning and fastening his binder as he walked.

“How much sleep did you get?” Martin asked, leaning down to press their foreheads together, his whole body was chilled to the touch and the act of pressing their heads together left a faint numbing buzz in Jon's brain that wrapped around his skull.

“Two hours,” Jon responded quietly. Martin hummed neutrally and pressed a kiss into Jon’s worry-lined forehead. One hand came up to ruffle Jon’s hair, pulling an indignant noise from him. “When will you be back this time? Where are you going?”

Martin staggered back a step, taking a deep breath with his eyes closed. A moment passed before the compulsion dissipated so that he could respond.

“You know I’m not going to tell you that, Jon.”

“I’m still going to ask.”

“I know.”

“When do you leave?” Jon asked, this time without trying to drag out the answer.

“You won’t notice me leaving, I promise.”

  
“You know that wasn't what I was asking,” Jon said feigning annoyance. He guessed he didn’t do a good job if the twisty little grin that made its way over Martin’s face was anything to go be. Jon watched his droopy, dull eyes squint slightly at the corners. “I wish I could see you off one of these days--no I know that’s not how it works. I know”

Jon stood from the couch, letting the blanket slide off his shoulders. Sighing, he reached up to clasp his hands behind Martin’s neck, softly knocking his head against his collarbone. Martin patted him on the back, laughing softly.

“C’ mon now, you’ve got to get ready; You have to get to work. Melanie will never let you live it down if she knows you’re late because you're here being sentimental.”

In response, Jon let out a loud groan, pushing himself away to jump in the shower. Martin would probably be gone by the time he got out if his previous experience was anything to go by. Before leaving the room he pulled Martin down for a quick kiss.

“I’ll miss you.” He murmured against Martin’s lips.

“I count on it.”

“If you’re going to feed your god by leaving me alone, at least come back with a story so that I can feed mine,” Jon called as he walked to the washroom. Martin’s returning laugh came to him through many thick layers of thick, numbing fog.

Just as Jon expected, Martin was gone by the time he exited the room, having finished his shower. It was as close to 'seeing him off' as he would ever get.

* * *

 

Once Martin was gone, taking quiet static with him, the dreams got more intense. The statements themselves were normal enough, but the first week was usually filled with the goriest of the batch. All of the particularly unusual ones that had trouble getting through the Lonely's haze. After a week of dreams-as-usual, Elias showed up again. The smug bastard was leaning up against the wall of a rotting building, twiddling his thumbs. Between them, a woman watched her childhood friend get eaten alive by cockroaches. The statement wouldn't end until the cockroaches had finished their meal and started after the statement giver. She would get away. It was always the survivors that left him their stories. At that moment he would have liked nothing more than to look away. Even though his eyes are trained on the man across from him, he still can’t Look away from the mess of flesh and exoskeleton writhing and screaming in front of him. It truly is a gruesome sight. The woman gurgles. Elias grins. Jon Watches.

* * *

Three weeks passed. The flat felt desolate, leading Jon to, once again, spend entire days at the institute. He’d been preoccupied recently since Peter Lukas was disposed of. Basira was taking to her new job as the head of the institute quite nicely. Daisy had been keeping her company since she’d gotten back. Melanie would be in when Jon got to work. He knew she was at the institute, because he wasn't, and she was phoning his cell phone.

He knew the trips were good for Martin now that he'd been accepted by the Lukases, but that didn’t stop Jon from working himself to an early grave out of spite when he was gone. He still left himself a little time to allow himself to be lonely. It was the least he could do after all.

He answered the phone a second before it went to his voicemail.

“ _There_ he is. Please tell me why I'm here before you, _my boss_.” He could almost feel Melanie’s glare through the phone.

“I’ll be in late today.”

“You’re already late. You can’t call in late to say you’ll be late.”

“Technically you called _me_.”

“I’m gonna tell Basira to sic Daisy on you if you don’t get your ass behind your desk in the next thirty minutes.” He heard something in the background akin to Helen trying not to laugh. He rolled his eyes.

“Fine. Thirty minutes.”

“I’m including travel time in that.”

“I’m not a _miracle worker,_  Melanie.” He made a face at his phone, too late as Melanie had already hung up.

He hadn’t been getting much sleep recently. It was hard enough to get more than two hours when he had the Lonely nearby, numbing the edges of his consciousness, but now that he was alone, he was lucky if he even got that. Most weekends he would crash and sleep through a whole day, but during the week when he was going to the Institute daily, he couldn’t seem to get any rest. Even when he’d actually been able to fall asleep, he was restless as he was reliving statements the whole time. The more harrowing statements should have stopped a couple of weeks into his being alone, but they had kept up, relentlessly sapping his energy.

Suffice to say, when Jon got to the Institute 45 minutes later, when he was met by Daisy, his reality felt a bit off kilter. The Archivist kept his body from succumbing to the effects of sleep deprivation more often than not, but his mind was frayed at the edges as though someone had turned his glasses partially into kaleidoscopes. Daisy had asked if he was okay, and he allowed the Archivist to answer for him. It was going to be a long day. Jon decided to take the hint and fade out a bit to let the Archivist take control for a while. Giving the Archivist control was as close to 'sleep' as he was going to be able to get for the coming hours. That was what he thought that, at least, until he was woken up at his desk by Daisy.

She hadn’t left his side after meeting him in the foyer but thought he looked like he could use a bit of rest. She had only woke him up then so that she could wiggle his glasses off his face. His vision hazed in and out for a moment as she patted him on the head.

“Good. I’ll tell Basira you’re busy, but feel free to just go back to sleep. No one will mind. Probably.”

Jon thought he mumbled something in her general direction, but suddenly his vision fractured. The Archivist widened its eyes vacantly at Daisy. While the Archivist remained sitting in his office, Jon found that he himself was standing in a woman’s bedroom, Watching as she cowered from the vague feeling of being Known. The world around them looked as though they were watching a very strange 3D movie with their lenses off. The Archivist blinked a couple of times, rubbed its eyes, and then placed its hands out for Jon’s glasses. Maybe they would help.

Daisy handed it the glasses as Jon turned around to see Elias sitting cross-legged on the floor behind the frightened woman. Jon felt glasses slide back over his face, appearing on the bridge of his nose even though he hadn't put them there. The Archivist spoke to the room and Jon felt his mouth move.

“How are you doing this? Why are you here?”

Daisy looked behind her with a curious eyebrow raised. The Archivist’s Eyes flitted around the room trying to find a way to join Jon’s and its eyes. Coughing silently for a moment, very obviously trying to avoid the compulsion, Elias grimaced. The question had already stuck itself far back behind Elias’ molars, forcing his mouth open to form words. Although it looked as though he was speaking, no sound came from him. The only sound in the room with Jon was the loud chattering of the statement giver's teeth. Jon watched Elias' lips move to form the words:

‘I'm just here to remind you that while you may have gotten rid of Peter Lukas, you will _never_ be rid of me.’

Jon ground the Archivist’s jaw. They woke with a gasp when Daisy dug her sharp nails into the backs of Jon’s hands.

“What the hell was that, Jon. You left me with the Archivist. At least give me some warning or something next time.”

“I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean to. I think-- Daisy I think I need to do something sort of stupid.”

“I thought you promised Martin you wouldn’t be an idiot until he was back.”

“I don’t know when he’ll _be_ back! I can’t--I can’t keep letting this happen.”

“You still haven’t told me what 'this' is.” Daisy reminded, coming around to his side of the desk. She leaned her weight against one arm, hand planted firmly on the wood, blocking him in his chair as if to stop him from leaving.

“I’ve been having weirder dreams than usual,” Jon said in the spirit of honesty and teamwork, “I mean, they’re still about the statements, but Elias has been in _every single one._  He’s not usually in these statements. I think he just pulled me into a dream? He spoke to me? Or he tried to, but I didn’t hear any noise.”

“And what do you plan to do about that,” Daisy asked coolly. He hesitated.

“I’m...not sure yet. I have to look into it more.” Daisy hummed approvingly.

He wondered if-- and immediately Knew that-- there would be a statement around the Archives that he could use.

* * *

 His breakthrough came in the form of another dream and an old recording. 

His dream that night was one of the more painful ones to relive. Jude Perry sat at a table across from him, smirking. She looked normal enough if one could ignore that way her nose had slid over partially due to the tilt of her head. Elias was behind her, a sick look of anticipation in his eye. He hadn’t seen this one yet. She reached out one hand, showing off the glinting bone of her teeth. Jon reached his hand out to meet hers, holding Elias’ gaze. His face twitched and his jaw popped with the effort it took to avoid immediately screaming. Jude’s fingers sunk, screaming hot, into his hand. Her thumb melted his skin, leaving familiar fingerprints from his wrist to his knuckles and a blistering mess on his palm. Elias was grinning although the telltale glint of pain glinting in his eyes as though phantom pain was lancing its way through his veins as well. He hoped that was the case.

Jon woke up screaming. He was sweating and writhing around in the sheets, clutching his aching arm. The burns had long since healed over, but whenever he dreamt of Jude Perry, his arm always hurt as if the meeting had just taken place hours before.

Searching for a distraction, he reached for his side table, fingers closing around his cell phone. Of course he had no notifications, but still, he opened the phone, hesitated for a moment, and dialled Martin's phone number. He knew there was no way Martin would even have the means to listen to any sort of message until he was back in the flat, but he needed to do something or he was going to lose his mind. He dug his palm into his eyes to stop the tears that were forming there from falling over his cheeks. The pain still screamed up and down his arm, twisting in fiery spirals in the shapes of Jude's fingerprints.

The call went directly to voicemail after one ring.

“Martin.," He breathed, "I’ve been having some strange dreams since you’ve been gone. Stranger than usual I mean. E- Elias is there? He’s been in every...every single one since you’ve been gone. He was in some before you left as well, I suppose, but these are... different.

“I know you aren’t going to get this, but I just needed to talk. I need to do something. My old boss being creepy in my dreams is one thing, but if he has enough control over my Archivist’s mind to make me fall asleep against my will, I’m not willing to think about what he could do to Basira, Melanie, or Daisy if he decided to. And you, of course. Can Elias even reach you in the Lonely?

“Anyways, I...I think I need to do something. I know I promised I wouldn’t do anything reckless if you weren’t here, but I have a hunch. I’ll wait a while to see if you come back soon, but if you aren’t back in the next couple of weeks I’ll just bring Daisy with me. Last night I had the Jude Perry dream-- yes I am currently in a lot of pain. No, I’m not going to test your theory with the burn ointment. It’s already healed; more ointment won’t help with anything. In the dream, if I’m not mistaken, Elias seemed to be able to feel my pain. I’ve never had that happen with other statement givers, but Jude is one of the only desolation dreams I have. And with him being able to feel you burning statements years ago? I think I might be onto something.

“I’ll wait a couple of weeks," Jon hesitated again, listening to the phone line crackle quietly, “I miss you.”

* * *

 

Jon waited a month and a half. He was getting too old to keep running recklessly and alone into dangerous situations, anyway. He wasn’t even properly old yet, but the age of his mind seemed achingly mature with the amount of knowledge and experience he possessed. The only indication that Martin had returned was the cold draft that kissed the back of his neck as he was making dinner with shaking hands.

The bloodier dreams usually tapered off to allow the more 'normal' statements to get their air time in his mind when Martin left, falling into a random order again in his mind. This time, every night had been a new terrifying statement. More times than he could remember he had experienced the phantom horror from a bystander, or the ghostly itch of a survivor’s injury that wasn’t his. A couple more times whilst awake, Jon had been split uncomfortably, forced into sleep. There had been a few days that Jon was sure had been dreams, and still more dreams that Jon thought were real life. His burnt hand came up to scratch the back of his neck, not quite believing that Martin could be back yet.

The cold hands that came up to rest on his shoulders made him jump and spin around. Martin was standing behind him lifting his eyebrows. Jon allowed Martin to drag his eyes over his tired form, taking in the eyebags and the mussed hair. In lieu of greeting, Jon opened with,

“Did you get my message?”

“Of course.” Martin said, “I do check my phone, you know. I just can’t answer it when I’m in the Lonely.”

“And what did you think?” Jon asked.

“You didn’t tell me a plan over the phone so I’ve been trying to come up with the most idiotic one I can think of and imagining you’ve somehow come up with something worse.”

“Do you think we’d be able to hunt down Jude Perry again?”

Martin actually barked out a harsh laugh. “Ah, I was right. This is so much worse than I was thinking. Jon, you  _know_ what she did you. What are you thinking.”

“I don’t know, maybe I’m thinking about how I want to save my coworkers and you from the man in jail who has been watching me sleep every night. But of course, what am I thinking, right?” Jon didn’t raise his voice but his tone became sharp and his eyebrows furrowed.

“You know that’s not what I was talking about. I’m worried that you’re going to rush into something and get hurt again. I feel like based on your whole ‘becoming the Archivist’ thing, my worries aren’t totally unfounded either.”

“This isn’t some sort of impulse decision. I’ve had months to think over what I’m going to do. I wasn’t going to go against my promise and just run into this half-cocked.”

“And I’m not questioning your judgement--well. Not questioning your judgement _much,_  but you have to admit that it does sound a bit risky to go talk to the Lightless Flame again after what happened last time.”

“I’m aware of what she is capable of. You can’t change my mind about this. This is the best way I can find to get back at him. You can either come with me or not.”

Martin sighed and dragged a hand down his face. Jon knew he wasn’t being incredibly fair, but he’d been on edge for nearly two months with Elias in his head. Daisy and Melanie hadn’t seemed off in any way he could tell, but he didn’t want Elias to have to exert his power more than he was, or in any other directions. Dealing with things alone was really a hard habit to break.

“Can we take a bit to get ourselves oriented at least, before leaping into the middle of a deadly, supernatural cult?”

“...Fine. Yes. We can take a moment.” The scent of smoke wafted up at him, and he spun around to try to save his dinner.

The two of them ordered pizza, in the end.

* * *

 

Jon woke up clutching at his throat, unable to breathe. He was making loud gagging sounds as his lungs strained to take in oxygen. Mike Crew wasn’t in the room, but he had been in his dream and, according to his body, that was basically the same thing. Elias had, in this most recent dream, been sitting right beside Mike, sipping Jon’s mug of tea as Jon had his breath taken from him.

When the rushing in his ears had finally calmed down and he could breathe again, he became aware of Martin sitting beside him, speaking in panicked tones. His hands were fluttering around Jon, not touching him for fear of making whatever just happened worse. Jon draped one arm over his eyes as his chest heaved, relishing in the air. A tense moment passed between them.

“Elias was sitting beside Michael Crew tonight. Took my tea and everything. The lack of oxygen didn’t affect him how the burns did.” Jon said dully as though giving a report.

“This has been happening _every night_?!”

“That’s what I said. Not always the ones I get injured in, but same difference in the long run.”

More silence passed, Jon’s tired and Martin’s worried.

“I think Jude’s back in London,” Jon said eventually.

“Oh?” Martin prompted.

“I didn’t have her dream when I was in the coma. I think she saw what was happening and wanted to be left alone.”

“Which means that with how much you've had her dream recently, she must be quite angry with you or something,” Martin pointed out, still trying to convince Jon he was making the wrong choice by pursuing her, “Why else would she come back and allow you to have her dream? Reliving that memory just means she gets to burn you again, doesn’t it? Have you done something to the Lightless Flame recently that could make her angry?”

“I don’t know if it was something I did. Jude mostly just hates me, I think. Maybe she hasn’t been able to find any physical people to go after and is settling for Dream-Me.”

“I feel like you’re trying to reassure me right now, but I can assure _you_ that it really isn’t working.”

“If she’s looking for a new victim, we have a perfect candidate sitting in a cell across town.”

“And she’ll also have you. If you go see her, you’re going to be way closer than Elias at that moment.”

“ _Martin._ It’s a risk I have to take right now.”

“...I know. I know. We can’t wait if this is what’s happening to you. Maybe Melanie and Daisy can help track her down.”

“...Thank you,” Jon sighed, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders. Martin leaned over him, pressing his worries into a desperately numbing kiss. Jon sighed again, reaching up to wrap his arms around Martin’s shoulders, accepting the press of chilly fog that dug in below his eyes and made his thoughts go a bit hazy.

* * *

 Surprising no one, Daisy was able to find Jude Perry in just under two days. She had returned to London a while ago and had taken up residence in the refurbished ruins of a partially burned home in Pimlico. She was sitting on her porch smoking a cigarette when Jon and Martin arrived. Despite the rain pelting down, the likes of which saw Jon and Martin in long jackets and carrying umbrellas, Jude was, as per usual, wearing only a pair of baggy joggers and a muscle shirt. The rain that did land on her bare shoulders sizzled away into steam as soon as it touched her. The fingers on her left hand were dripping like wax, showing her boredom.

“Ah, Archivist,” She started, stubbing out her cigarette on her forearm. When she lifted it from her skin, there was no mark. “I was wondering when you’d task your Institute Dog with sniffing me out. Heard that whole story by the way. Cute of you to ‘care’” Jude did air quotes with her dribbly fingers around the word ‘care’, sarcasm evident not only in her tone but also her motions. Martin stayed a few steps behind Jon. Both of them stayed silent, “So what is it? You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t need something-- I know your lot. I already gave you my story. You aren’t getting another from me. My threat from last time about your compulsion still stands.”

Careful to watch his tone, begging the Archivist not to do anything reckless-- the irony of which wasn’t lost on him-- He took the remaining steps toward her, standing in front of the porch where she remained sitting. Martin hesitantly stayed where he was on the curb where the taxi had left them.

“I know we might have gotten off on the wrong foot last time, but I have recently come into some information regarding my...boss that you may find interesting. I was wondering if you would be able to lend me, er, lend me a hand.”

“Oh how _sweet_ ,” She looked past Jon to refer to Martin, “Isn’t this sweet? The Archivist coming to beg for my help as if he could possibly have anything to give me for it.Is that why you’re here too? Didn’t know the Eye was buddy-buddy with the Lonely. What’d he offer you?”

Martin seemed thrown off by her speaking to him, but recovered quickly, “I’m not at liberty to say.”

Jude reeled back, kicking her feet out so that Jon had to hop back to avoid them, and crooned, “That good, eh? Maybe I am interested after all! I can’t help but notice that you aren’t shaking my hand again. Is your offer good enough that I’ll overlook how rude that still is?”

“I learned my lesson from last time, thanks,” Jon said, waving his gloved hand, “Can we talk inside?”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? We aren’t in public this time. Is that why you brought a Lonely? Weird choice of bodyguard if you ask me.” Jude stood and brushed her pants off. Steam curled up from the soaked joggers, quickly drying them with the accompanying scent of burning cotton and mildew, “I haven’t gotten around to cleaning since the previous owners...left. Don’t mind the mess, or whatever.” She said sarcastically.

Jon tried really hard not to think about the obvious signs peppering the little house of a family having lived here recently. Martin took the umbrella from him and folded Jon’s jacket over his arm as Jon sat down in a chair across from Jude. Despite the third chair that Jude gestured him to, Martin stayed standing just behind Jon’s chair.

“So you said you had something I might find interesting. I'll listen. If I like what you say I will _consider_ helping you. If you try to compel me at all I will not hesitate this time to murder you were you sit.” Jude kicked her feet up onto the arm of the chair, crossed her arms and levelled Jon with a glare.

“I can’t help but notice that your statement has been showing up in my dreams recently. You’re also back in London. I can only assume this means you haven’t found any means to worship your god recently. Slim pickings over in-- let’s see, where were yo--” Martin kicked the back of his chair, breaking off Jon’s sentence before he unconsciously used his powers, “I mean to say, I have someone who might be a satisfying victim for you. Elias Bouchard, previous Head of the Magnus Institute.”

“And?” Jude prompted, “Why do I care?”

“He’s the one in current possession of Jack Barnabas’ statement about Agnes Montague,” Jon lied, “You seemed quite upset about the fact that she was in one of our, what did you call them, again? Our stories?”

There was no real change in Jude’s outward appearance but Jon Knew she was interested. He leaned back slightly in his chair, feeling quite as though all of his cards had been laid out on the metaphorical table.

“What’s happened to bring this on? What are you getting out of it if I do this for you?”

“Well, as you’re aware, I’ve been dreaming of your statement recently. Elias seems to have started taking an interest in these dreams. The past few times you’ve b-burnt me, it seemed to hurt him as well. He also has a sort of link to my assistants. I would like to avoid the loss of my resources as much as possible, and you seem to be the key to potentially stopping him as near as I can tell.”

“I’ve never burnt him.”

Jon Felt Martin begin to pay more attention to him as Jon began to answer.

“It...It seems as though our pain receptors are a bit linked, at the moment.” Martin shifted behind him. Jude’s interest grew and she leaned forward with a hint of a smile on her face.

“So what you’re saying is that when I hurt you, your Elias seems to feel it too?”

Jon couldn’t help but feel suddenly as though he had gone about this in entirely the wrong way, but he couldn’t pick his cards back up now. He would just have to see where this took him. Martin’s hands tightened around the umbrella handles, the movement making a strange squeak.

“I--er, yes. It doesn’t seem to physically injure him, based on the fact that I have this burn,” He raised his gloved hand again, “and he doesn’t. But he seems to be able to feel it in any case.”

“Oh, now  _that’s_ interesting. I don’t know why you didn’t open with that one.” Jude leaned forward, raising one hand to trail a finger from the bottom of Jon’s glove to the tip of his middle finger. The leather sizzled and popped under her light touch, and Jon had to put all of his energy into not flinching back. Martin moved forward, but Jon held up a hand to stop him.

“J-- _Archivist_. I’m not sure this is the best idea.” Martin said, tension evident in his voice.

“Oh don’t be a spoilsport,” Jude pressed her finger against his other wrist where his coat sleeve had ridden up, pressing harder when Jon yelped, “I probably won’t do any lasting damage. This is just to get back at the Archivist’s boss, remember? Besides, he hasn’t even compelled me, so I don’t have any reason to do anything _too_ damaging.”

Trying to regain some shred of control over the situation, Jon cleared his throat, trying very hard not to move, “I can give you the exact location of Elias’ cell. I would appreciate it if you could try not to kill him. He still has that link with my assistants and I would hate to have to find new ones. You can do anything else you’d like though, as long as he is left alive.”

Jude disregarded what he had said, reached a hand up to poke at one of the worm scars in the hollow of his cheek. Martin gripped his shoulder as he hissed loudly in pain.

“If Ms. Perry isn’t going to be of any help, I would say it’s about time we took our leave,” Martin said, his voice dull in order to hide his anger or his nerves, Jon couldn't properly focus enough to be able to tell.

“She didn’t really say whether or not she was going to help if I recall. So, Ms. Perry? What do you think?” Before he could stop himself, Jon felt the sweet compulsion of the Archivist lace its way around his words. In the same moment, Martin dropped the umbrellas to grip Jon’s other shoulder almost painfully, and Jude snarled, digging two fingers into his neck just below the soft skin under his jaw.

“What did I _just_ say about compulsion, Archivist?” Jude seethed, slowly pressing her fingers further as Jon started to yell. His hands flew up at first to try to wrench Jude’s arm away before reconsidering and, instead, landing on Martin’s hands on his shoulders. He pressed himself hard into the back of the chair, trying and failing to think about the way he could feel what he Knew to be his thyroid cartilage melting under her fingers. His scream was cut short as he felt a pop as she partially melted his vocal folds, leaving a hole in his windpipe. He tried to gasp for air, finally giving in as he realized that he had been accidentally resisting Martin’s attempts to drag the two of them into The Lonely.

Fog swirled around him, freezing mist curling around the searing, burning pain at his throat. Distantly, he realized he had dug his nails painfully into the backs of Martin’s hands. Distantly, he heard Martin trying to say something. Hopefully, the Archivist would help him heal his latest injury. After all, what was an Archivist that couldn’t compel worth? A staticky sort of membrane formed over his throat, numbing the surrounding area and making Jon’s thoughts feel as though they were coming at him with the speed of molasses dripping off of a spoon. He took as deep a breath as he could manage, and hoped that the pain had at least hurt Elias so that the meeting wasn't for nought.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on twitter @cryke_art and on tumblr @crykea / @alicedaisytonner


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